


The Proposal

by RadiatorfromSpace



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: A Couple Things Get Stuffed in There, A rather flippant treatment of the 'morgengifu', Anal, Asgard AU - Freeform, Awkward Humping in a Blood-Soaked Arena as ¼ of Asgard's Population Watches, B&G is brief, Berserker!Thor, Blood and Gore, Humor, Incest, Loki takes one for the team, M/M, Minor Headcanons Regarding Possible Societal Views about Berserkers, Nonconsensual object insertion, Romance, Romantiviolent Gestures, Sibling Incest, world-building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 23:34:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5474669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RadiatorfromSpace/pseuds/RadiatorfromSpace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asgard holds a tournament for her greatest warriors. <i>What does berserker!Thor do?!</i> That's...actually a legitimate question!</p><p>Read the tags.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt fill has everything you requested, CocoKrispies. But I cannot comment on the absurdist humor the fic took on. ;P
> 
> While the archaic 'morgengifu' is usually translated as a wedding gift of land or money from a Scandinavian man to his spouse (post consummation of the marriage), I just imagined for princes who already possessed those things jointly, the gift itself could take a more symbolic form. I also blatantly disregarded the rest of the definition.
> 
> Thanks to [EmyBailey](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Emybailey/pseuds/Emybailey) and [TheBookHunter](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thebookhunter/pseuds/thebookhunter) for beta-reading and suggestions!

Asgard held a tournament for her finest warriors.

Thor the Young Man strode onto the packed, blood-soaked earth of the arena, his matching cape billowing behind him and Mjölnir raised high.

The multitudes of spectators roared and applauded, stamped and cheered their favorite, their future king.

His hair shone like his hammer, his smile glowed like burnished gold, and his pride filled the stadium.

He polished his first three opponents off the arena floor in minutes. There could be no ill end for him in this tournament.

~

The awning shading the royal family's box from the midday sun might as well have disappeared for how Loki's skin had gone numb.

He leaned forward in his chair as the collective gasp swept around the arena, his thoughts only the weight of dread when he recognized the glow in Thor's eyes, and then the taboo, and then the consequences. 

With a sudden burst of vigor, Thor knocked the great golem off him. He lurched to his feet and hurled his opponent across the ring with a strength and a scream that were not his own. 

The clangor—the high stone wall separating the audience from the arena, falling under the force of the collision. 

Loki shivered, the audience shrieked, and those seated directly above the golem wailed.

When the rubble settled, Thor was a white-eyed, unfeeling monolith covered in the grime of congealing blood and dirt from the dusty air. Drawn to the loudest screams, he walked towards the shattered golem and the crumbling wall, ambivalent about the shattered femur jutting through the skin of his thigh.

The spectators only grew louder when he raised Mjölnir, and summoned clouds and lightning down upon three nobles trying to flee and sent them toppling down into the arena.

He went to their prone bodies.

Dead or alive, he lifted each one like a paper doll, took a wrist in each hand, and wrenched.

Loki vomited into the floor space of his seat.

Shaking, he pushed himself from his seat and grasped the wrists of his mother and father, stared into their ashen faces as they clutched back at him.

“Stay the Einherjar!” he begged. “ _I_ will go to him alone. I will soothe him and return Thor to his senses, but you must stay the warriors until I do!”

Mother gripped him. “I will not lose two sons this day!”

“I can do it. Father?”

Odin had closed his eyes, the only visible clue to his response to this devastating news.

“Leave your father, the evacuation of the people, and the Einherjar to me,” Mother ordered. “But you will return to me, whole and hale, and with a living brother.”

Loki sped down the steps into the underbelly of the seating to a cacophony of shrieks from the audience.

~

Asgard welcomed the berserker gift in its base-born warriors, but it was a curse and taboo for members of the ruling classes.

Thor's curse had been one of their first grave secrets, the management of which had drawn them closer in a way that mirrored the concealment of their unbrotherly intimacy. Loki had employed manipulation, spells, deceit, potions, bribes, and strategic murders to help Thor save face. Thor was not so foolish as to imagine the last of those tactics had never occurred on his behalf, although he preferred they never directly acknowledge it.

Then the possibility that the crown prince might be a berserker amounted to no more than rumors: normal for someone possessing Thor's size and proficiency in battle, _customary_ for a prince descended from great warriors.

It was desirable—as long as the rumors remained unfounded.

Today Loki could not rescue his brother from that, but he could save him from committing a massacre. If he failed, the casualties would eventually include Thor; successfully capturing and securing him was less likely than killing him in the attempt.

When Loki stepped into the arena, it was with the benefit of an assortment of seidr: charms to enhance his reflexes and agility, and a degree of preparation of his nether regions suitable for a frothing berserker, should the Lay of Loki become an unfortunate pun.

But beyond him he extended a bubble within which his manipulations of _apparent_ reality disregarded the world as it truly was: within its perimeter, the sounds of the world were greatly muffled to render the jarring cacophony of the spectators merely benign, quiet, indistinct noises; light and shadow were under his control; the air was cleansed of irritating dust; and the temperature rose and fell at the crook of Loki's smallest finger.

When he stepped close enough that Thor was enveloped in this invisible sphere, Loki first cleansed the blood and dirt from Thor's eyes and wounds; two fewer irritants to counteract his work.

Thor did not notice, too focused upon crushing the last signs of life from the Einherjar that had gotten between him and the horrified spectators. Thor slid back down the pile of rubble he had attempted to scale to bring himself in arms reach of the screaming audience, the Einherjar's skull between his palms.

Loki whistled and Thor lurched, turning away from the mangled corpse of the Einherjar. The other Einherjar stood back at Loki's signal.

Thor blinked as his sight grew clearer under Loki's seidr. The clangor all around them would have tempted his attention anywhere else, but he brought himself deeper into the balm of Loki's seidr as he stepped towards the easy target.

Now without distraction, Thor's attention anchored on Loki.

Which meant the rest of Loki's sorcery had better start to work swiftly.

Thor rushed him, slavering for a body he could reach; Loki ducked under his swing and rolled past him but not before leaving a heady plume of culinary aromas in his wake: freshly baked breads scented with rosemary and sage; baked duck with all the grease dripping down the sides; hot pastries stuffed with cheese and brown sugar; beef and bacon pie; scorched pears doused in honey.

Thor startled as he ran through the enticing scents, the fragrances a potent catalyst of memory of a different place and situation where blood lust was not even a thought. But Loki harbored no illusions: he ran headlong a safe distance while keeping Thor in the radius of his sphere, and dimmed the light similarly to soft candlelight. When Thor roared and came at him again, he thrust himself into an intimate ambience easy on both ear and eye, and laced with the striking perfume of freesia their mother had always used on her gowns and pillows.

Loki darted right as Thor swung Mjölnir down over him, the head sinking deeply into the packed earth from the force of the impact. Then Thor grunted uneasily as he turned this way and that, the sole primacy of blood lust challenged by doubt. This was not the place for battle and bloodshed, was it?

“Thor, you remember Mother telling us tales in her garden,” Loki said, carefully modulating his voice to soothe and pacify.

Thor's lip curled and he began towards him again, hammer raised and free hand grasping at the air.

Loki rubbed his fingers and then the midday heat was gone, replaced by the particular crisp coolness and moisture of spring mornings with a gentle breeze. Thor loved this air and was often his most tranquil when basking in it.

Loki sketched a rune in the air and placed soft kisses on the back of his hand. Thor immediately recoiled, grabbing at the air before his face at the sudden sensation on his cheek, further confused by his lack of aversion to it.

Thor snarled and raised Mjölnir high, and a burst of electricity shot towards Loki. He relied upon his physique to evade it, diverting just enough seidr to nullify the edge of the blast he failed to escape in time. 

“All is well, brother; you've no need for swiftness. Lay down your woes, come sit by the fire...”

Loki again laid kisses on the back of his hand, and this time Thor only came to a slow halt, brows furrowing and a hand raised as if to defend his face, but it hovered somewhere between its original intent and the rudiments of a caress.

“That's it, dear heart, you remember my voice,” Loki murmured. He tightened his hold on the spells controlling the light and temperature: made the light a little dimmer and the air a little warmer, created the familiar scent of apples he used to scent his bed linens where Thor had oft lain. 

Thor's shoulders began to lower and he breathed deep the artificial, familiar scents: hearth, home, a lover, nothing like the dire and dismal circumstances of the berserker. He dropped Mjölnir and staggered closer to Loki, peering a little closer at him with eyes whose white light was slowly dimming, as though he could truly see him through his haze if he tried.

Loki kept his palms up and open, and cautiously allowed Thor nearer. 

“It is warm and safe here in your bedroom. Your sheets are freshly laundered; smell the apple oil we sprinkled on the linen? Lie down and rest, love; all is well.”

He began to hum a lullaby he would hum to Thor when he was sleepy or so terrifyingly affectionate Loki knew not what to say. Thor came to him now when he heard the familiar melody, his shoulders dropping, his movements growing almost lethargic as he drew closer to the source of these comforts.

Loki knew his brother, so it was at that moment the grim clarity of foresight told him to cleanse Thor's hands of blood and grime; he sketched the runes just in time for Thor to grab him and pull him down into onto the arena floor. 

He fixed his focus as much as he was able: on the many spells he was maintaining and now ridding them both of clothing and armor before their resistance irritated Thor and undid his work. He wished this public carnality were not the way this soothing would conclude today, but he had approached Thor aware of the routes this soothing might take.

He did not have the ability to obscure them from the view of the audience while maintaining the rest of his seidr, so he closed his eyes.

He chose to focus not on the shame or humiliation that would follow, but his task.

Thor's labored breaths were heavy on his skin as he clumsily kissed his cheek. Driven most likely by hazy memory and instinct, Thor fumbled between his legs, squeezing Loki's cock in a cursory echo of their normal touches as he raced toward the only thing that complemented the way his blood was racing in his veins.

Loki allowed it: he spread his legs and wrapped his arms around Thor's shoulders. He kissed Thor's cheek and kept humming as thick, callused fingers were roughly thrust into his already well-loosened hole. Loki had prepared himself amply for a savage bedding. 

But then he felt something that did not belong, something hard and definitely not of flesh, and Thor pulled back. Loki opened his eyes and looked down to see Thor's right arm bent at a right angle, his fist positioned between his legs as though he was about to—

Loki bellowed as Thor's knuckles collided with his rear, then screamed until he was breathless as the something-else was hurled within, punching into his tender insides.

The pain was so great and unexpected, he lost control of his various spells, and for a moment the jeers and uproarious laughter of the audience came through to him. Through force of will, he regained control and the artificial quiet resumed, but not before the hot burn of shame spread over his skin.

He gritted his teeth through the pain as he sketched runes of protection and to staunch bleeding before Thor made his next decision. 

His seidr took effect in good time, for soon after he felt the head of Thor's cock pressing inside.

Loki wrapped his arms about his brother's shoulders once more and resumed humming the lullaby.

~

Up in the Royal Family's box, the All-father and All-mother sat stony-faced. They deduced that Loki had cast a charm of silence around himself and Thor, for the only acoustic accompaniment to the awkward display of their twin sons copulating in the bloody dirt was the hubbub of the audience. 

Thus far, Loki seemed resignedly willing, although he had at one point seemed to be screaming in exultation from Thor's deft ministrations.

That was the silver lining to which Frigga was committed to clinging.

“Dearest,” said Odin, “I need you to tell me what this display is, because I do not believe it.”

Frigga reached over and gave his hand a tender, reassuring squeeze.

The remaining spectators' screams had turned to cackles and cat-calls. Most had stayed to watch Loki's diversion, but now Frigga signaled to the Einherjar to _forcibly_ evacuate the gawping audience. 

“Is this what Loki does when no one can find him? Is this what all of Thor's 'extra training' is about?” Odin asked, still plainly shocked.

Then he turned to her in sudden realization.

“The line of succession. The people grew up knowing their future king would be Thor—will they reject Loki as their future king? Will it be enough to make them co-rulers?”

Frigga had no constructive or soothing response for this, for the same thoughts were still but sinking in for her as well. While her weaving had shown her many intimate details of her sons' lives, they had not, as such, been a preamble for this.

~

Freshly bathed and examined by the healers, the brothers were quite drained and internally grappling with the day's events in Thor's bedroom.

Thor sat on his bed, back bent in shame, with his hands plastered over his face.

“I am so, _**so**_ sorry,” Thor moaned into his hands. “That is not how I intended to propose!”

Loki sat on a padded chair across from him, his arms crossed and a menacing scowl upon his face. He was also sitting not on his bottom, but mostly on his hip for want of the resources for a numbing spell. He had refused an examination by the healers to save his pride further injury.

“Perhaps it wasn't the place you intended to propose, either,” Loki hissed. 

“I am so sorry,” Thor moaned again. “I love you and I wish to honor you, I never meant for them to see you indisposed—“

 _“Indisposed?”_ Loki pronounced in a fatal whisper. “Half of Asgard counted the carats! **You** will have the honor of stumbling through the explanation to Mother and Father.”

Slowly easing himself out of the chair, Loki gingerly walked to Thor's bed and knelt upon it in front of him. He made two gestures in the air and then his breeches were gone and a bottle of oil appeared in his hand.

He spread his knees wide on the mattress and glared down at Thor.

“Get. It. **Out.”**

Daring no more than a brief glance at Loki's face, Thor laid down on his back so his head rested between Loki's knees. He slathered his fingers in the oil and began to gingerly spread apart his brother's abused cheeks.

Thor swore aloud when he saw the deep purple bruise covering the skin of and around his hole. He began to cry as he started gently fingering him open.

“I am so sorry,” he whispered again. Loki's reply was only a grunt.

He worked the muscles until he could get three fingers inside and could hook one finger around the thing while using the others as a barrier between the hard, pointy edges and Loki's tender flesh.

Loki grabbed Thor's knees and pronounced a litany of swear words in Vanir as Thor slowly pulled it out. He gasped deeply once Thor had finally freed his fingers and the ring.

“You fool, _you heinous, unthinking **ogre!**_ Why did you even have it with you during the tournament?!”

Loki crawled forward and on his hands and knees and collapsed onto the bed.

Thor rose and looked about his bedroom for a place to put the ring. He found an old clay vessel leftover from his childhood toys, emptied it onto the shelf, and put the ring inside. Best to keep it out of sight, even if Loki had never seen his morgengifu before Thor propelled it into his bottom.

He washed his hands in the copper wash basin beside the window and laid down beside Loki on the bed. He kissed Loki's shoulder and stroked his back.

“I saved you from murdering countless citizens,” Loki murmured hollowly.

“Yes, you did,” Thor affirmed quickly.

“I saved you from yourself.”

“You were glorious!”

“I could have perished.”

“All the more glory for you!”

“But the theoretical 'mortal blow' was not glorious.”

“You saved multitudes, deftly and with great courage. For ages, the bards will sing of y—“

_“I don't want them to sing of it.”_

“It's not as bad as Sleipnir,” Thor soothed.

“You proposed to me rectally. It is worse than Sleipnir.”

Thor winced. “I acquired the ring with the most tender and noble of intentions...”

“Well, since I am already lying here bleeding, is there anything else 'well-intentioned' you wish to gift me?”

Thor made a sympathetic sound and hugged Loki as tightly as he thought wise. The gesture was not reciprocated, but he did not expect it to be at that moment in time.

“So when shall we tell Mother and Father? And what shall we tell them…?”

“We,” Loki whispered, “will have nothing to tell anyone until I can shit without screaming.”

**Author's Note:**

> The “rectal punch" proposal for all of your engagement and betrothal needs.
> 
> (Yes, I wrote a story about berserker!Thor punching an engagement ring into his brother's bumhole.)
> 
> Same handle as on [Tumblr.](http://radiatorfromspace.tumblr.com)


End file.
